A Much Younger Man (Tryst Series Book 1)

by Mia Fox

  As I returned home, I braced myself for what or whom I might find. When it was only Megan in the kitchen, and fully dressed at that, I was more than relieved. Frankly, the smell from the pot bubbling on the stove was heavenly and Megan seemed the picture of domesticity as she stirred and added spices to her concoction.

  “That smells delicious. Italian?”

  “Yes, my grandmother’s secret meatball recipe. I’ll share the meatballs, but not the recipe.”

  I sat down at the kitchen counter. “It sounds like I’m getting the good end of that bargain. I’m an experienced eater, but when it comes to actually cooking…my skills are severely lacking.”

  Megan smiled at my comment. “Let me see if it’s ready.”

  She dipped a soup spoon into the pot to retrieve some of the sauce, blew on it and then smiled even wider as she swallowed. “Oh yes. That’s the ticket. Just like Nanna made. She used to say that if you’re going to spend hours cooking, you might as well make a batch big enough for the entire neighborhood. So, I’m glad you’re home and hopefully hungry.”

  Megan was being so kind and normal I sort of felt badly for slagging her off to Luci and telling Jack I was jealous of him being able to move out. When she placed a deep porcelain bowl in front of me, it actually felt like home. There were just two meatballs in the bowl because they were so huge. They floated majestically in a hearty sauce that was a bright red color. Bits of chopped tomatoes and flecks of green from freshly cut basil and parsley attractively decorated the dish that was almost a stew rather than a traditional spaghetti and meatballs. To emphasize this point, Megan placed a soup spoon next to my bowl and then went to our oven to retrieve the other item that was contributing to the tempting smell filling the house.

  “Is that…”

  “Homemade garlic bread. The secret is to crush your own garlic and mix it with plenty of real butter. I never use the artificial stuff that comes in those little jars.”

  “Let me at it,” I begged to which she tore off a chunk and placed it next to my soup bowl.

  “Go on, you dunk it. That’s how my family served it. We’re Italian, but we always ate our meatballs with garlic bread rather than spaghetti.”

  “It’s so good. What gives it that extra…I don’t know what? It’s just better.”

  “Probably the parmesan cheese that goes on the top. Again, it’s fresh. I buy a hunk of it and then grate it over the top, add some smoked paprika and the tiniest bit of cayenne. Gives it a kick, but not too much.”

  “It’s just the right amount of everything. Honestly Megan, I had no idea you could cook.”

  I couldn’t help wondering why Megan hadn’t married. Between her activities in the bedroom and her talents in the kitchen, she would have plenty of guys interested. Then again, she did have plenty of guys interested. I silently chided myself for being so old-fashioned. There’s nothing to indicate that Megan wasn’t the one who shied away from settling down. She seemed happy enough with her constant stream of visitors. Maybe she had exactly the life she wanted.

  I was starting to rethink traditional male/female roles since accepting this assignment and being the one to kick things off with Cole. If I hadn’t been bold and led him to kiss me, it may never have happened. I kept saying that I enjoyed being pursued, but there was something about taking charge that was appealing too.

  As if listening in on my thoughts, Megan stated, “Kat, I wanted to apologize for Gil.”

  “Which one was Gil?”

  “The one wearing your scarf. The other guy is Nick.”

  The dinner definitely softened me up. “It’s okay…just try to keep them out of my room.”

  “I will. So, how do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “You’re so focused…you don’t get distracted with men. I mean, I know these guys aren’t going to win the man of the year award, but it beats being lonely. And, they care about me…in their way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, neither one is able to commit. For that matter, most men can’t so I learned long ago that the ideal situation is to have two. If one is pulling back because we just spent a few days together and they feel they ‘need space’ then I have someone else to call. Then, if that one does a disappearing act for a few days, I go back to the first. It’s really an ideal situation. It means I never play the part of a needy girlfriend.”

  I thought about what it would be like to juggle two guys. It wasn’t something that appealed to me, but then again, until a couple days ago I would never have considered being with a younger man. Megan looked at me expectantly, weighing my reaction.

  “I don’t pass judgement. I think everyone has to do what they need to in order to get by and as long as nobody is hurt, it’s fine.”

  “So, why don’t you date?”

  If Luci were here, she would have nailed me for averting my eyes. She knows me too well and that I can never make eye contact if I’m telling a fib. But Megan didn’t need to know about my recent exploits. I know of all people, she wouldn’t have cared, but I wasn’t ready to admit to anything. For that matter, I hadn’t even gone on a date with him. We just kissed…and there was the intention that it might happen again.

  Yet, it brought up an interesting point. Could I actually date Cole? What would people think? Did keeping it a secret make it more exciting? I looked up to find Megan still eyeing me with that expectant look, awaiting my answer.

  “I honestly don’t know why I don’t think about dating. I guess I have too much on my plate to think about men. Raising a child alone is expensive…not that he’s a child anymore,” I added quickly, realizing for the first time the connection in age between Jack and Cole.

  Megan uncorked a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. “Chianti? It goes well with the dinner. There’s even some in the meatballs…one of nanna’s secrets.”

  “Sure. Thank you.”

  “So, what keeps you occupied if it’s not men?” she asked.

  “Well, it seems as Jack gets older, the expenses get greater. So I suppose my answer is planning for college. Who knows, maybe he’ll qualify for a scholarship. But if that doesn’t happen, I need to focus on my job. Thankfully, I still have one.”

  My mouth was starting to run amok I realized. Off Megan’s concerned look, I quickly retracted my last thought. “Don’t worry. The job is safe for now. I can make the rent.”

  “I didn’t say anything. So what’s the problem then?”

  “I’ll sound spoiled. I mean, it’s not like everyone likes their job all of the time. I’m just having a particularly rough time with mine right now. I’m not sure I like the direction that my boss wants me to take.”

  Again, my thoughts returned to Cole and his lips…how soft and kissable they were and the fact that it wouldn’t be that hard to kiss him again. The truth was that I wanted to kiss him again and wouldn’t that be killing two birds with one stone? The reality was that my financial woes were climbing and I couldn’t afford to not do as my boss asked.

  But to write about Cole…it felt like a betrayal. Then again, so many women could benefit from the articles. There was a definite double standard in the world. People didn’t really bat an eyelash when a man dated a younger woman, but turn that situation around and everyone had to mention it. Maybe I could change that.

  Megan’s voice interrupted my thoughts with the question of the hour.

  “So are you going to stick with the job? Do you want my two cents?”

  “Sure.” She had fed me a great meal, relaxed me with wine, and already she offered some sage advice about how she managed to keep her own heart happy. Why not listen to what she had to say about me?

  “I don’t know many people who don’t have some issues with their work. My opinion is if it pays the rent…,” Megan let her voice trail off, the implication of her words clear. She might like me, but she needed a renter. Megan’s outlook on relationships was clear. They served a purpose.

  As if to drive the p
oint home, she added, “If it were me, I’d do whatever I had to pay for college and keep a roof over my head.”

  “You’re right. And I don’t want you to worry about the rent.”

  “I’m not trying to be a hard ass. I mean, I get it. I don’t love those guys, but Nick helps me around the house with things I can’t do; Gil is a kind and generous man who takes me to dinner at least twice a week. They both have their faults. For one, they’re both commitment phobic, but then again, I don’t know if I want marriage. For now, it works. And that’s all one can really do…find a situation that works and make the best of it.

  Megan was pragmatic. For not knowing any details about my situation, she summed it up pretty clearly. I needed money and it wasn’t like I was being asked to do something unpleasant. On the contrary, what worried me most was that the job might turn into one that I enjoyed more than I should.

  Megan poured each of us another glass of wine and offered a toast. “Here’s to doing whatever one has to in order to stay afloat.”

  I clinked her glass, took a sip, and nodded my agreement.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rachel emailed me to request another meeting, but there was a decidedly warmer tone to her words this time. She even closed her message with a smiley face. I was coming to realize that my boss was in a good mood when her boss was happy and that happened when the advertisers were seeing results for their money.

  Unlike a week ago, she stood when I entered the room and even put her arms around me, pinning my own arms to my sides in one of the most awkward hugs I had ever experienced. Still, I suppose it’s the thought that counts.

  “Kat, come sit down, honey. Would you like a coffee?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Rachel dug through a stack of papers until she found what she was looking for. “Here it is,” she said passing them to me. “This is where we are in terms of advertisers. Look at the spreadsheet first. That is real time, basically how our numbers have increased since that wonderful post of yours. The other reports are projections for the next six months, assuming of course that you deliver the same sort of passionate article on a weekly basis.”

  I studied the reports and even without a degree in finance it was easy to follow. You start at a date a few months ago with a sad little line that hovered toward the bottom of the chart and then after my post….vrooom that little line shot up and changed color from red to black. No wonder Rachel was in a good mood.

  I had been naive when I first took this job. When I studied psychology in school, I always thought I would grow up and help people. When I started writing, I thought it was a vehicle for spreading that help. But then it turned into a struggle for advertising and eyeballs…investment dollars from corporations and consumers willing to give the blog their precious time. I never expected a creative endeavor like writing to be viewed with the hard edge of finances.

  I continued to study the spreadsheet as Rachel offered up more explanation of the facts and figures. “That one post of yours provided enough advertiser funding to pay your salary for an entire month,” she pointed a red-polished nail at one line item on the budget page. When I didn’t respond, she spoke up again, “Are you hearing me, Kat?”

  “Umm, yes. That’s good news.”

  “You bet it is. And think about it this way…just one post did that. And how long did it take for you to pound that out? Maybe an hour? That’s working smart.”

  I wondered where the conversation would turn because despite the hug, Rachel just wasn’t a warm fuzzy type of person. Accolades from Rachel soon turned to admonishing and today was no exception.

  Right on cue, she chimed in with a back-handed compliment designed to keep me on my toes.

  “There’s no question that you’re a smart girl, but maybe too smart for our audience. Your old posts were heavy with research into psychology and statistics. Nobody wants all that…at least not in the academic way that you were presenting it.”

  She paused to make sure I was still with her because in spite of Rachel telling me that I was smart, she usually appeared to believe the opposite was true. “In other words, Kat, they want the psychology as it applies to their lives. So where are you going to go from here? I want to help you be successful…success for you trickles to me and our advertisers.”

  She sat back, her speech finally over. But this was worse than any tongue lashing. She looked at me expectantly. If I had known that I was going to be in a pitch meeting, I would have asked Luci to help me brainstorm some salacious ideas. I wasn’t used to this type of fluff writing and my brain appeared to have left for a coffee break.

  “Anything?” she prompted me.

  I was trying to think like our audience. What would an ego-centric twenty-year-old girl be interested in reading about? Think, think, no use. “Umm, I was thinking maybe a post on what to wear on a first date.”

  Rachel narrowed her eyes at me as if trying to figure out if I was a moron or in the process of having a brain hemorrhage. “Adjust that idea to what clothes he won’t struggle to get off you, and you might be onto something.”

  I nodded obediently.

  “Anyway, Kat…not really edgy enough, not what I had in mind. I’m still trying to focus on your whole female empowerment vibe. That’s what the readers seemed to respond to.”

  Well, that at least sounded hopeful. Maybe Rachel’s new direction wouldn’t make me a complete sell-out. Or, at least I had hoped until she presented her next idea.

  “Maybe something like ‘Poses the Pros Use to Get Sexy Selfies,” “Why He isn’t Texting Back,” “Why He Blocked You on Social Media?”

  “But those sort of sound like the traditional girl chasing guy articles…not very empowering.”

  Rachel paused, flipped off her St. Laurent glasses, and eyed me with a look that I couldn’t quite decipher. It was part I’m-going-to-fire-your-ass-the-second-you-screw-up mixed with you-have-balls-and-I’m-not-sure-I-like-it. I smiled and waited expectantly for her returning lob comment.

  “Well, your instinct last time was correct. Who knows? Maybe you’re on a winning streak. At any rate, you better hope you are because your next post is due in six days and I want another one that’s going to get people clicking from your latest one to the last one and then all around the site. The longer they stay on our site, the happier our advertisers will be.”

  I suddenly felt nervous as not an idea was coming to my head. “Just how long do they need to stay on the site, you know, to make the advertisers happy?”

  “Funny you should ask. Do you know that the analytics on your old posts indicated that people read the headlines and then clicked away from our site? They never even hit the “read more” button. You were writing some truly boring shit.”

  Rachel didn’t mince words.

  “But this post…,” she threw another sheet of paper down in front of me that showed my now famous post with certain lines highlighted, “this one had people not only reading more, but reading all of it. The average site visit was over twelve minutes. That’s golden.”

  “So if I can do it again, then…”

  She interrupted my words, the smile back on her face. “You keep this level of engagement up and you’re livelihood is secure. And, isn’t that what we all want at the end of the day? Do you know that there was a study that the average Tinder user spends 90 minutes a day on that app? Imagine how much that brings to their advertisers and sponsors?”

  The whole meeting had left me a little depressed. Certainly my writing wasn’t just reduced to sensationalism that was intended to keep people on a website? What about romance? Compassion? The psychology of love? It felt like there was a disconnect between my writing and my audience when Rachel outlined it in terms of click-throughs and browsing time.

  “You look odd,” Rachel noted. “What’s the problem?”

  “It just sort of feels cheap…like an escort who is only concerned with her time and being paid for every minute.”

  Rachel waved her hand in t
he air at me as if to shoo away those negative thoughts. “You’re looking at it the wrong way. You finally have an audience. But, you’ll only keep them if you give them what they want.”

  Cole. They wanted to know more about him. Trouble was, so did I and if he found out about this job…that I was writing about him to keep my job…oh, who was I fooling? If he found out that I was writing about him period…”

  “What’s wrong, Kat?” Rachel’s voice had taken on an annoyed, parental tone.

  “I’m just feel like I’m betraying him.”

  “The guy you wrote about? First of all, he’s not your target demographic in terms of the blog. This opportunity would have never happened had you not expressed your true feelings about this guy. Your guard was down. Your inhibitions were lost and you expressed yourself. So now, if he returns those latent feelings what’s the harm? If you ask me, it’s a win-win.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I felt giddy at the prospect of seeing Cole again for a repeat hockey lesson. His text messages during the week had started out innocently enough with him asking if I had gotten home safely in the rain. So sweet! Followed by an inquiry about the cut on my leg. So thoughtful! And then it moved into decidedly flirtatious territory when he said he wished he had been able to kiss it better. So hot!

  It had been ages since I flirted with a man and I had forgotten how much fun it could be. We set a date to meet at the field again a week later and I found myself wishing that the days would pass quicker. Now that our meeting day was finally here, I was nervous as a cat at a dog fight and wondered what we would talk about. The difference in our ages was bound to become more evident as we tried to carry on conversations.

  It was one thing to flirt through texting, but in person would be different. First of all, I don’t think I could flirt face to face with him. I’d be too embarrassed, worrying that once he cast eyes on me he’d consider me more of a mom than a woman. My heart was trying to pound an escape route from my chest as I rummaged through my closet trying to figure out what to wear.